


The Star of the Night

by Rosage



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Crimson Flower Spoilers, F/F, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 13:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20725184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: After a night at the opera, Edelgard visits Dorothea’s dressing room to confront her about a missing role.





	The Star of the Night

Edelgard rests her chin on her hand as she waits for the show to begin. A short, brown wig and white breeches make her indistinguishable from the gentlemen enjoying a night at the opera. She had to trust Hubert's appraisal of the disguise; with her hair its former shade, she could scarcely look at it. She brushed off his teasing that her presence would do more to give her away. Now, she has to admit he had a point; those around her seem distracted, even from the golden eagle statues peering over the styled banisters.

All distractions fade as Dorothea takes the stage. The sight of her makes Edelgard want to shrink. Her helmet’s horns curl more dramatically than Edelgard's, and a slit skirt flows under her makeshift armor. The moment she launches into song, declaring herself the emperor that will forge a new world, Edelgard’s face heats. At least her neighbors can assume she's taken with the diva.

Not that that’s a lie—Dorothea's movements are fluid enough to drink, her voice rich and complex like wine. Unfortunately, her talents prevent Edelgard from thinking of her as only Dorothea. A bold, stately demeanor replaces her usual charm as she calls out orders and brandishes an axe. It makes Edelgard want to bite her thumbnail, a habit she kicked in her youth. She flicks imaginary dust from her doublet and reminds herself Dorothea is the only emperor in the room. 

At least there are other characters to focus on. At first, seeing imposters wear her companions’ skin chills her down to her tingling toes. Mentally, she recites evidence they’ve rid the world of such slithering interlopers.

A Hubert sweeps on stage as if to remind her of that fact. If he isn't already a parody of himself, his actor’s trailing black robes and echoing cackles manage the job. The levity flees when Ladislava’s dutiful portrayal reopens her grief. Byleth’s actor taking center stage relieves her, and her classmates all make appearances, personal touches nobody but Dorothea could have included.

But the longer the story stretches, the more Edelgard fixates on the briefest inclusions of a singer cheering on the emperor from the sidelines. No impact to speak of, despite her shaping the opera itself: even in victorious moments, Dorothea's voice, usually high and clear, drops to dissonant notes that reverberate throughout the opera house. Whichever hurt child she's drawing from, the pain that thrums in Edelgard's heart feels like her own.

Only Edelgard would notice.

The moments end, seamlessly returning to a tale of glory that ill befits the war's carnage. It must be mockery. Dorothea never let herself or Edelgard close their hearts to its cost. 

The evening lasts too long, and yet all too soon it's over, with applause crashing around her. The sight of Dorothea soaking it in drives Edelgard to whistle, loud and sharp. It's the only attention she dares draw.

She lets the flow of the crowd sweep her up. With a wine glass as a prop, she mingles, floating from group to group before they can pay her mind—or her ears can heat at their appraisals of the show. Ferdinand’s voice reaches her, making her tense, but if he spies her he exercises restraint. Chandeliers imbued with magical energy cast the room with an artificial sparkle. In the distraction of it all, she abandons her glass and slips backstage.

Though her disguise spares her complete mortification, it's simplest to flash her emblem to the guard posted outside Dorothea's dressing room. They shuffle aside for her entry.

Whirling toward her intruder, Dorothea reaches for a blade. Recognition transforms her manner as she sets down the weapon and sweeps over to pull Edelgard into a hug. A heady perfume masks the sweat from her performance, dizzying Edelgard—or perhaps that’s the warm body against hers after a day of armor and deference. She manages a stiff arm around Dorothea's waist before Dorothea kisses her cheek and pulls away.

"How familiar of you, Your Majesty," Edelgard says, hiding her blush with a playful dip of her head.

Dorothea has cast aside her armor. Her dress remains, gold-rimmed crimson fabric shimmering where it bends toward the light. She slips off her wig, white hair transforming into auburn. The sight makes Edelgard refocus on the table, which holds the costume helmet alongside makeup. The red and black roses she sent sit in separate vases that hide their thorns.

"Right now, I'm only Dorothea."

"In that case, I am only your biggest fan,” Edelgard says. Dorothea gestures to the roses.

"Then please tell me you're the one who sent those. I had the gifts from noblemen quietly removed."

"You mean none of the gentlemen sent you black flowers?"

Dorothea rolls her eyes. "I've already forgotten." Her once over makes Edelgard feel exposed. "I see my biggest fan favors doublets."

"If you are going to be me, I may as well be someone else. It wouldn't do to disrupt your audience."

"They're disruptive enough as it is," Dorothea says with a wave of her hand, but she's smiling. "So? What did you think of our glorious emperor?"

"There is no need to tease, after everything I just sat through."

It comes out testier than she means. Mirroring Edelgard’s earlier gesture, Dorothea flicks something invisible off of her costume. "I just hope I didn't ruin your night."

"No, that's not what I meant. I—you know I was against you staging this, but your talent was never in question. You have an unparalleled ability to command an audience, Dorothea."

Something genuine, vulnerable even, shows in Dorothea's eyes before her teasing returns. "Literally, this time. I've never given so many orders."

"Indeed. The audience would never believe that you only commanded a fraction of the army."

Dorothea turns to the mirror, beginning to remove some of the makeup around her eyes, dark enough to strike distant viewers. "That's the magic of theater. Isn't it something?"

"In fact, I recall your mages led the decisive blow against Cornelia." Edelgard crosses her arms, daring Dorothea to deflect.

"Opera isn't a history lesson, Edie. The audience only needs to see the overarching journey, the emotions, not the trivia."

"Your impact on this story is hardly trivial. I'm surprised you decided against my advice to play yourself."

Still holding the paint-smeared cloth, Dorothea’s hand drifts to the table. "The whole point of performance is to play someone else. Can't I be the star, just once?"

"That is what I am saying. The character of Dorothea could be a lead role for generations to come, not that schoolgirl that ran in and out of a few songs."

"I suppose," Dorothea says without conviction. "It's just, who goes to the opera to see a story _about_ a diva?"

"I do. And if your production is to be believed, I'm a person with some influence."

Dorothea tips her head down, and Edelgard presses her lips together. It shouldn't matter who she is. It should only matter that Dorothea captivated her as much in the monastery library, her brow furrowed in focus, as she does dancing on stage. It should only matter that Dorothea pulled herself out of the dark and into the light. But she can see Dorothea doesn't believe her, and she needs her to—before Edelgard’s short, busy life only continues in stories.

Edelgard steps forward and reaches for Dorothea. “May I…?”

Dorothea’s lips part with a sharp intake. “You may.”

She takes Dorothea's chin in a gloved hand, turning her to meet Edelgard's gaze. Her face, smudged with half-removed makeup, flushes in question.

"I meant what I said,” Edelgard says. “My story is not complete without you."

"I... Edie." Dorothea releases her breath. "I suppose I thought they didn't need to know."

"They do not need to know you sung me lullabies when I feared nightmares. They do not need to know you braided my hair and snuck sugar into my tea. But if they know anything about me, they must know you stood at my side, lending me strength."

"Edie. Edie, I only need you to feel that way.”

“And I need _you_ to. That is all I am saying, Dorothea.”

Closing her eyes, Dorothea breathes a shaky laugh. “You know, I normally wait until the after party for critiques."

Edelgard colors again. Her thumb brushes Dorothea's jaw in apology as she pulls back.

"It was not my intention to overstep,” Edelgard says. “I swear I did not only come here to lecture you. I hoped the star of the night might do me the honor of dining with me. My treat, of course."

Dorothea gathers her smile with the ease of a prop. "How can I say no to my biggest fan? Just let me finish freshening up."

"Of course. Take your time." Edelgard heads for the door.

“Edie, wait.”

As readily as one following an emperor’s orders, Edelgard halts.

"Thank you,” Dorothea says. “I swear I'll take what you've said to heart."

Edelgard softens. "That's all I can ask."

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Dorothea arranging the roses, nestling the black against the red.


End file.
